Operation Blind Date (13 page)

Chapter 21

L
aney felt his hesitation. Thought she understood it. Told herself she should take advantage of it, pull away.

She didn’t. Couldn’t.

“Laney.”

His voice was rough, harsh, and the difference sent another rush of heat through her. She leaned into him, her body suddenly awake and tuned to a fever pitch. She savored the heat of him, the hard, lean strength. Wanted more of it. Wanted more of his mouth, his hands, his body.

She wanted it all. Now.

This was insane, this so wasn’t her. She didn’t do this, didn’t get swept up with a man she barely knew, didn’t have to fight off thoughts of leaping into bed with him three days after meeting him.

But then, she’d never, ever had a man make her feel like this. As if the decision were out of her hands, as if fate and nature and biology had all conspired to make this happen and it was useless to fight it.

And as if she would regret it her entire life if she stopped now.

She ran her hands over him, wanting to learn him as he was learning her. She slipped up under the edge of his sweater, nearly gasping at the feel of him, smooth skin over taut muscle, and savoring the way he sucked in his breath at her touch.

She’d always laughed at the idea of sex as an imperative. A nice fantasy, but hardly day-to-day reality. She wasn’t laughing now. She was burning up. Being consumed. Feeling as if she would die if she didn’t have him.

When he tugged at her shirt she let him, when it got tangled, she helped him. She heard the low, very male sound he made when it dropped to the floor, saw the heat in his eyes when he cupped her breasts so they swelled over the top of her lacy bra. And she swore if she hadn’t been in such a hurry to get that sweater off him she would have unhooked the bra herself.

When the sweater was gone and she got her first real look at him her knees nearly gave out. He was as beautiful as she’d known he would be from that glimpse she’d gotten before. Solid, broad shoulders, narrow waist and that flat stomach she’d been touching with such eagerness. A faint dusting of hair graced the center of his chest, narrowed as it trailed down his belly. Her suddenly overactive imagination supplied the rest of the image, but it wasn’t enough. She wanted to see, to touch, in a mad, hot, insane way that was the most consuming thing she’d ever felt.

Somehow, they wound up on the floor. She felt the softness of the throw rug at her back. It wouldn’t have surprised her if she’d fallen, but he’d managed to ease her down gently, even as she clutched at him, fingers digging into those shoulders.

She couldn’t reach his mouth just then, so she pressed her lips to his neck, trailing kisses down the strong corded muscle to the hollow of his throat. She felt him suck in another deep breath so she lingered there, kissing, tasting. But her hands strayed farther, reaching the waistband of his jeans, fumbling with the button, then the zipper.

And then freezing when she realized what her fingers had encountered, realized just how aroused he was in turn. It made her shiver, not in fear but in anticipation. She traced the rigid flesh through the soft, worn denim.

“Laney.”

It was all he said, but it came as if it were ripped from him. And the sound of it, the deep, rough tension of it, was all she needed to hear.

All thought fled as his thumbs brushed over her nipples. It wasn’t a firm, demanding stroke, just a light caress, but it didn’t matter. Sensation swept through her as if it had been his mouth on that aroused flesh. And at that thought, her body clenched with the need for it to be just that, for his mouth to be on her.

She moaned under the pressure that was building, arched beneath him, reaching, asking, pleading. He answered. He lowered his head, kissed the swell of her breasts. He reached behind her, managed to unhook her bra, quickly enough that she didn’t go mad, yet not so easily it made her wonder where he’d gotten all the practice.

And then his mouth was there, his tongue circling, flicking until she nearly screamed. She arched again, twisting, straining to get closer. Vaguely realized he’d unzipped her, as well. With his mouth still teasing her nipple, his fingers slipped lower. She only realized how completely she was responding to him, how suddenly the arousal had swamped her, when he finally reached his goal and stroked her.

The ferocity of her own response to just this stunned her; if it was like this now, what on earth would it be like when they were actually joined, when he was inside her?

On the thought she echoed his action, sliding her hand farther, tracing the path of that arrow of hair.

“Stop.”

The harsh command barely penetrated the haze. She couldn’t really have heard that. Who would want to stop this?

It was more forceful this time. “Laney, stop.”

Teague would, apparently. Still caught up in the whirling sensations, she looked up at him in puzzlement.

“Damn,” he muttered under his breath.

He closed his eyes. She saw his jaw clench for a moment. Then he opened them again. His hands were safely at her shoulders now, holding her as he pulled away slightly. It was all she could do not to whimper plaintively at his retreat.

“We can’t do this,” he said.

He didn’t sound like he meant it. She frowned, still spinning a little, and off balance from his quick withdrawal. She felt cold without his heat, although the room was perfectly warm.

“Why?” she asked simply.

“You want a list?” he asked, his voice steadier now.

“If you’re going to stop now, I may need it,” she said. She knew she sounded a bit sharp, but she was reeling a little.

“You’re vulnerable right now. You’re hurting. You’re not thinking straight.”

For some reason this list irked her. She scrambled to her feet. “Have you taken up mind reading, or did you just decide you know better than I do how I feel?”

“You want cold, hard facts?” he asked, getting up as well. “You’re a client. You barely know me. And...I’m not prepared.”

She had the odd sensation of feeling her cheeks heat when she would have thought they couldn’t, she was already so flushed.

“I won’t always be a client. And I know more about you than you probably realize. I know what kind of person you are, what kind of man you are.”

She left unsaid the fact that his unpreparedness, the lack of the proverbial condom in his wallet, ever at the ready, actually endeared him to her even more. He obviously didn’t make a habit of this any more than she did, or he would have been prepared.

But he backed up then, took that critical step away. He meant it, she realized. He really was going to stop.

“You’re the one who isn’t sure of her judgment anymore.”

That stung. Seriously. But maybe he was right. Her judgment apparently sucked.

“All right. I get it. Sorry.”

It was all she could do not to grab up her discarded shirt and hold it in front of her like some character in a romantic comedy. Except there was nothing romantic about standing here half-naked with a man in the same state, but who clearly didn’t want to be there. And certainly nothing funny. She yanked the shirt over her head, pulled it into place. Then she turned her back on him, picked up both coffee mugs and walked to the sink. She turned on the hot water, thinking she should have picked cold, and stuck her head under the faucet. It would have been easier. And more pleasant.

“You get what?”

Couldn’t he just let it be? Was he going to make her say it? And this time she didn’t even have Amber’s vital, gorgeous presence to blame.

“That you’re not interested. Sorry for the...” Embarrassment? Awkwardness? Misunderstanding? What did you call something like this?

“Not interested?”

Something in his voice, some sharp, slicing edge of incredulity, spun her around. He was holding his sweater, looked as if he’d been about to put it back on, and she had to force herself not to just stare at all that bared skin. He yanked the garment on rather fiercely before he spoke, his voice tense.

“You had your hands on me. If you believe that was ‘not interested,’ then your judgment really is impaired.”

“You just said it was.”

“I didn’t. I said you weren’t sure of it anymore. Entirely different thing.”

“Semantics.”

“Words. They mean things.”

She played back what he’d said in her head, had to admit she saw the difference. And she had been doubting herself, wondering if there was something she’d somehow missed about Edward, some sign or clue that he wasn’t the nice guy he appeared to be.

“I’m sorry,” she said, meaning it this time. “I don’t usually do that, take things personally, I mean.”

“You’re off balance right now. Worry will do that.”

Perversely, his gentle understanding only made her feel worse.

“And I don’t usually have to spend so much time telling someone I’m not usually like this,” she said wryly.

He blinked. She thought she saw his mouth quirk, just barely. “That made sense to me. Should I worry?”

In spite of everything, and despite herself, she smiled. “Maybe you should.”

He was quiet for a moment, studying her, and she had the oddest feeling he was assessing what to say next. Not trying to guess what she wanted to hear, as some men did, but if he should say what he was truly thinking.

“After this is over,” he finally said, “after we find Amber and your life gets back to normal, you’ll be glad we stopped.”

She liked that he put it that way, that they would find Amber, but she couldn’t fathom ever being glad they’d stopped. In fact, she could more easily see her spending the rest of her life regretting it, wondering what it would have been like. And it really had been silly, to accuse him of not being interested; it wasn’t like she could deny the obvious fact that he’d been a fully, completely aroused male.

But that realization was followed by a flood of self-recrimination. How could she even have thought of doing this, of indulging in this, when Amber was God knows where with a possibly crazy man who might have abducted her?

Teague’s cell phone chirped a by now familiar sound, the arrival of a text message. She wondered rather vaguely, as if she only wanted the distraction, if Foxworth had a protocol for what rated an actual phone call as opposed to a text.

He reached for his jacket—Drake’s jacket—and pulled the phone out of the pocket. She wondered what it must feel like, to have that constant reminder, to put it on every day, to wear what his dead friend had worn. Was it solely in tribute, to honor his memory, or was it out of fear of forgetting?

Honor, she thought, even before the question had fully formed in her mind. Teague Johnson would never forget, and he wouldn’t need a daily reminder to make sure of it. But honor? Yes, that fit. That was who he was. He was a man of honor. Hadn’t he just proved that to her, in a rather vivid, painful way?

Not, she thought sourly as he tapped through screens to get the text, that she agreed with him. Maybe she was a little off balance, maybe she was worn down a bit with worry, but none of that accounted for the way she’d responded to his touch, his kiss. No, there was more to it than simply needing comfort in a storm. Much, much more.

His brow furrowed as he read. Just slightly, so she guessed it wasn’t horrible news. He texted a quick answer, so short it had to be just an acknowledgment that he’d gotten the message, then put the phone back into the jacket.

“News?”

He looked at her. “Not about Amber, directly.”

“But something.”

He nodded. “The sick relative Edward was supposedly off to stay with?”

Laney nodded, remembering the information Quinn had gleaned from his contact with North Country Enterprises. “His other aunt. She was in the hospital, they said.”

“Yes. Except she’s alive, well and gave a talk at her local garden club last week. And she hasn’t seen or heard from her nephew in weeks.”

She felt a chill overtake her. Edward had lied about where he was going and why. Lied to his bosses. Risked his job if he was found out.

She wondered why Teague had reacted as if this weren’t huge. Then she remembered. This just confirmed she’d been right about what he’d already been thinking.

That Amber was dead.

Chapter 22

“I
know you’ve been through it what must seem like a hundred times,” Hayley said, her tone sympathetic, “but—”

“I get it,” Laney said. “Each time there might be something new I remember.”

“You already have,” Quinn pointed out. “You remembered you saw Edward twice at the sporting goods place near your old work, so we knew he might frequent the place.”

“Not particularly useful.”

“But it was. One of the clerks there remembered him. And that the last time he was in, a few months ago, he tried to buy some nylon rope but his credit card was rejected.”

“But that’s long before he even met Amber, how does that help?”

“It doesn’t, yet. But it might.”

Teague stayed quiet. He had nothing to say. And he wasn’t about to point out that Edward’s attempted purchase could mean he’d planned this out before he’d even met his victim. Knowing there would be a victim, before he’d picked her out.

And he especially wasn’t going to mention the first intended victim could well have been Laney herself. The thought put him even more on edge than he already was.

“At least the police are taking it seriously now.”

“Yes, they are. The unused plane ticket and that he lied about the sick relative at least got their interest. The kid having the phone and being paid to text you really made them curious. And with Detective Dunbar prodding them, it may get more attention than it otherwise would.”

“So...you turn it over to them now?”

Teague felt a sudden chill. Is that what she wanted? Had she had such second thoughts about what had happened last night that she wanted to be free of him, of Foxworth?

Yeah, make it all about you, that’s good thinking.

The words dripped with sarcasm in his mind. But he couldn’t deny he sensed Laney was wavering. Even though she wouldn’t look at him, hadn’t looked at him at all this morning. Not that he could blame her. And he’d expected it, after she’d coolly told him she could find her own way to Foxworth now when he’d said he would pick her up for this meeting.

“We can do that, if that’s what you want,” Hayley said, her tone carefully neutral.

He opened his mouth, shut it again; nothing had changed, he was better off staying out of this discussion. It was a lose-lose for him. He’d already gone way across the line in this case. If he tried to urge Laney to drop the case, she was liable to think the same thing he just had, that he wanted out because of what had happened between them last night. If he urged her to let them stay with it, she was liable to think he wanted to pursue what had happened between them last night. Whatever the hell it had been.

Besides a raging inferno, you mean?

That inner voice that usually saved itself for warnings and assessments of dangerous situations was full of biting wit this morning. Probably brought on by the long, sleepless night he’d spent pacing and cursing at himself, in between thoughts of a long, icy cold shower.

He should tell Quinn. Ask to be taken off this one. Tell him he was over the line, that he’d become too personally involved. And then he nearly laughed out loud at the vague words to describe what had been anything but. It didn’t get much more specific than stripping half her clothes off her and nearly going all caveman when she touched him in turn.

And the bottom line never changed; if Laney thought he wanted to pursue what had leaped to life between them, she would be right. But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. Not even for that, whatever that fiery explosion had been, could he risk the trust Quinn had put in him.

Of course, that was easy to say when he wasn’t half-naked on the floor with her, her luscious breasts bared to him, her nipples taut and glistening from his mouth, his own body raging under her touch.

Just the memories were enough to send him careening toward the edge. He clamped down on his recalcitrant body, and the effort it took convinced him anew that he had to do it. He just had to trust Quinn would understand. The man knew something about uncontrollable passion, he thought. But at least Hayley hadn’t been a client who had put her trust in them.

“—maybe that would be best,” Laney was saying, and he wondered what he’d missed with his out-of-control, undisciplined thoughts. He obviously should have been paying more attention to what was going on instead of sitting here in a haze of sexual arousal over a woman who was—or should be—off-limits.

“It’s up to you, of course. But remember, we don’t quit unless you tell us to,” Quinn said.

He’d been right, then. She was wavering, thinking it would be better to leave it to the police now that they were involved.

A sudden woof and a scramble of paws broke through the seemingly never-ending swirl of his thoughts. Cutter had been napping quietly in his spot on the floor, but was now on his feet. And Teague realized somewhat uneasily that the dog with the piercing gaze had it fastened on him.

Unexpectedly the dog rose up and put his front feet on the table. Even Hayley looked startled. Cutter focused on the folder that held Amber’s file, the paper file they used because it was easier to pass around the table than the laptop. The dog batted at it rather fiercely with one paw and the contents scattered across the table. What was he up to? Teague wondered. With any other dog, it would be just an accident, but with Cutter that was never a safe assumption.

Even as he thought it, Cutter managed to isolate the photo of Amber, and nosed it toward Teague until it was right in front of him.

“Well,” Quinn said.

“Yes,” Hayley said.

“What was that?” Laney asked.

“That, I believe, was an opinion expressed,” Hayley said.

Laney looked at Hayley, then Quinn, then back at Hayley. She still hadn’t met his gaze once this morning.

“You know I love dogs as much as anyone, and more than most,” she said. “But he is just a dog.”

“If you say so,” Quinn answered wryly.

She looked doubtful.

“We’ve learned it’s not a good idea to ignore him,” Hayley said. “Right, Teague?”

“More like impossible to ignore him.” It was the first thing he’d said, not that anybody had asked for his input until now.

“That, too,” Quinn agreed.

“And he did start this,” Teague added.

“Yes,” Hayley said. “Which makes it kind of his case, right?”

“And he’s obviously not ready to quit yet,” Quinn said.

Laney stared at them all in turn, Teague last, meeting his gaze for the first time. He kept his expression even.

She shifted her attention to the dog, who seemed to sense her doubts. He went to her, sat down and plopped his chin on her knee as he stared up at her intently. Teague knew what it was like to have that intense gaze fastened upon him, and wondered if it would have the same effect on someone who hadn’t really seen what the dog could and had done.

“I...”

She shook her head, almost sharply, and Teague knew why. Cutter’s steady gaze was an almost palpable thing, something you felt like you could shake off if you tried.

“Makes you feel for the sheep, doesn’t it?” he said.

She chuckled. It was short and held a slightly puzzled note, but he’d take it. At least she wasn’t avoiding even looking at him anymore.

“You really believe this,” she said to Quinn, who probably seemed to her the most unlikely to put his faith in the whimsy of a clever dog.

Quinn nodded. “And I’m a very hard sell. But he’s piled up enough stats by now that I’m convinced.”

“We don’t know how he does what he does. Only that he does it,” Hayley added. “And he clearly thinks there’s more for us to do here.”

“You know there are those who would insist he doesn’t think at all,” Laney said.

“And they,” Teague said, “would be wrong.”

Laney leaned back in her chair. She looked at Cutter again, reached out and stroked his head, scratched the spot below his right ear that everybody who met him eventually learned about. He let out a soft
whuff
of sound, turned his head to swipe his tongue over her fingers.

“All right, my furry friend. You win.”

This time Cutter let out a yip of happy acknowledgment, the sound of a dog who knew he’d won. At least, that’s what it seemed like. And that assessment was reinforced by the fact that he went placidly back to his spot on the floor and resumed his nap, just that quickly.

“I should sleep so easily,” Teague muttered.

He heard Laney move at his words, didn’t dare look at her for fear of what he’d see in her eyes at the implications. He hadn’t meant it that way. At least, not consciously. But memories of last night, of the sweet taste of her, of the driving need he’d had to marshal resources long unused to fight back assailed him now that he’d spoken so unwisely.

“When you run at a hundred miles an hour while you’re awake, I guess you sleep when and where you can,” Hayley said.

Relieved at the lighthearted words, Teague glanced at her. His relief faded when he saw her watching him, then Laney, and vanished when he recognized the assessing look in her eyes. Whatever that female instinct was about people and relationships, Hayley had it. She knew, in the same way Cutter knew about people in trouble. Like Cutter, she was rarely wrong.

And he didn’t like her turning it on him. Or that he’d obviously betrayed enough to trigger that instinct in her.

But what he didn’t like most of all was the twinge of regret he’d felt when Laney decided to continue. It was faint, and he quashed it instantly and easily, but it had occurred just the same. For just that moment, he’d wished she would tell them to drop it, to leave it to the police now that they were involved. Because then he’d be free to finish what they’d started last night.

Last night she was an emotional wreck,
he told himself in self-disgust.
You know what kind of woman she is, do you really think she’d have been so willing so fast if her head had been on straight?

He stopped his thoughts before he lurched into the morass he’d been mired in last night. Besides, he should have known she wouldn’t quit, not really. She’d want every possible asset working on finding Amber, and she’d go to the wall herself to do it. Even if it meant spending time and money she didn’t have, because she put no price on loyalty.

In a twisted sort of way, the very things that attracted him to her were the things that had her so tangled up that she was vulnerable. It was amazing she was still speaking to him at all.

She’d said nothing at all to him about last night. She’d barely said hello when she’d arrived this morning. She’d spoken only of Amber and the status of the case now. If he’d truly wanted to forget about what had happened last night, she was reacting perfectly. He should follow her lead, he told himself. Just act as if nothing had changed.

But it had.

And there he was, back at the twitchy, agitated place he’d spent most of the night. He hadn’t been restless, pacing the floor last night simply because he’d gotten all revved up and had to stop. It hadn’t been because his body had been awakened after a long dry spell. It had been, he’d finally had to admit at about 3:00 a.m., because he’d never experienced anything like what had leaped to life between him and Laney. And it was a little stunning to have to admit, after thirty years of living, he had never realized sensations like that were even possible. He’d never even looked for that kind of feeling, because he’d never known it existed.

And if it was that intense even when they’d stopped short...

Teague had the sinking feeling he was only beginning to realize the full extent of this. And no amount of telling himself it was just some kissing that had gotten out of hand could change that.

No matter what happened from last night on, he was afraid his life had been changed forever by a few searing minutes with the woman sitting across from him. He glanced at Quinn, caught him looking at Hayley with what the team jokingly called The Look.

He got it, now. If this was what Quinn had felt when he first met Hayley, Teague was sure of one thing.

He hadn’t felt nearly enough sympathy for his boss.